At Full Moon (Poetry)

Opal-eyed, the daughter of the moon
rides the midnight breakers — flecks of foam
flying — catching in her shell-combed hair
streaming silver everywhere
her laughter like the star-song blown
from other worlds. Old lovers hear the tune

raise themselves from slumber in the deep
their misty host follows in her wake —
a court of ghosts sighing for each soul
drowned. They count out the sad toll
of those she has lured for love’s sake
with promises she never meant to keep.

Fickle beauty — cold of heart and face
magical the myth who fails to age
Romance is the fated ship she rules
in full knowledge men are fools
for love — no other passion — grief or rage —
competes. It is full moon — the currents race.